


Our Dad's Army

by sparkeythehamster



Category: Dad's Army
Genre: 1960s, Gen, Post-canon death, Sibling Bonding, canon sister, made up name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:34:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24002170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkeythehamster/pseuds/sparkeythehamster
Summary: "Frank wanted to laugh himself, but the gesture did not come from a happy place. The irony was, that while Helen had known Arthur Wilson to be her father all her life, and had hardly ever seen him, for Frank the man had been a constant presence in his life, but the nature of their relationship had remained entirely unknown to him for nearly thirty years."The year is 1963 and Arthur Wilson has passed away. For Frank Pike, he grew up with a man he never knew he could call 'father', and for Helen Brown, the man she called 'father' was only a small part of her life. The two meet to reflect on the life of Arthur Wilson.Small one-shot. NOT COMPLIANT WITH 'IT STICKS OUT HALF A MILE'
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5





	Our Dad's Army

The bizarre nature of London was something Frank was certain that he would never get used to. He couldn’t help but raise a quizzical eyebrow as a group of young women dressed in bright purple tight fitting dresses passed him by. They were discussing the latest music trends in loud shrill voices, heels clicking against the pavement.

He checked his watch for the third time. It was nearly two o’clock and their plan had been to meet at one-thirty.

Lifting his gaze back to the busy city street, he caught the eye of a young twenty-something girl with her friend. Not wanting to be unfriendly he offered a small smile, both girls giggled and flushed. Well, perhaps if Helen wasn’t going to make an appearance he could at least treat these two lovely girls to lunch. However, before he could take a step in their direction, a woman, a few years older than himself materialised before him.

Despite being in her mid-forties, she was still what Frank would consider to be an attractive woman. Her curls were a light fluffy blonde, cut into a fashionable bob. It stood in stark contrast to Frank’s shorter dark hair. It was the fashion for men these days to grow their hair longer, but Frank was quite certain his mum would have a fit if he attempted that. Besides, appearances needed to be kept for the sake of the bank.

“Frank Pike?” The woman tilted her head to one side. Her eyes flashed for a moment in surprise, as if she recognised him, then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the light faded to a sad accepting smile.

“Helen Brown I presume?” In light of her sorrowful expression Frank just couldn’t bring himself to be angry about her lateness, instead he offered her his arm. “Should we head inside? I am sure the prices will be extortionate, but hopefully they’ll do a descent cream tea.”

She chuckled lightly, accepting his arm in a tentative but warm grip. “I’m sorry I’m late. I don’t usually come to this part of London. I was on the next street over for about twenty minutes before I realised I was in the wrong place.”

“Not to worry” Frank insisted, with a gentle shake of his head as he led them over to a small and quiet corner of the café, hoping this would at least be one of the places where a waitress would come and take their order.

A radio behind the counter was playing through the singles chart, with an enthusiastic announcer jumping in between songs to commentate on their positions. _“…That was ‘Be My Baby’ by the Ronettes, up from six to five. Next down one place at four is Roy Orbison…”_

Frank tuned out the crackling voice of the radio out and focused on Helen.

“How was your journey from Walmington?” Sweeping a stray hair behind her ear, Helen bounced nervously on her seat.

“Nothing to complain about” Frank answered with a smile, his heart clenching a little as he remembered why they were here. “I…” He swallowed, reaching down into his bag to pull out a carefully folded A4 envelope. “I’m sure he would have wanted you to have these.”

Helen accepted the envelope from him, unfolding it and reaching inside to draw out the collection of forty-six photographs Frank had recovered. Each one showed a girl at various stages of her life. The earlier photographs were considerably more formal, taken professionally by a photographer. But as the girl blossomed into a young woman, the black and white prints began to take on a more casual tone. The one that had been earmarked when Frank had found the collection was a photo depicting the teenage girl and a woman he could only presume to be her mother, sitting on a beachside wall in summer clothing, two ice-creams between them.

“I didn’t know he’d kept these… mother said she sent them to him, but…” Helen sniffed, bringing up a finger to her eye to catch a stray tear that had threatened to spill. “I saw him so little…” A strained laugh escaped her, “You know, when I was younger I used to hate him. The other girls at school would always ask me why I didn’t have a father… I think even the teachers looked down on me because of it.”

Frank’s lip twitched. “When I was six-years old, my friend’s father tried to stop us playing together. He called my mum a ‘woman of loose morals’.” At the time his younger self hadn’t understood what the term had meant, but it had upset his mum so much when he'd repeated it to her, that it had stuck with him all these years.

Helen laughed, withdrawing a tissue from her pocket to dab at her eyes again. “He was a frustrating man. Made everyone’s life so much harder.”

“But he always did the right thing… In his own way.” Leaning back on his seat, Frank barely noticed the movement he made as he gave the lobe of his ear a small tug. A gesture that made Helen smile.

She pulled out one of the earlier photographs and showed it to him.

A formal crisp photograph depicting a young and beautiful woman perched on a seat with a baby in her arms. Behind her was a man in his early thirties, his features were sharp and handsome, tie slightly askew.

“You look a lot like him.” Helen held up the the photograph so she could compare it against his face. “I always looked more like my mother.”

“I’m sure that was preferable to looking like a man” Frank pointed out. He hadn’t intended for the comment to be funny, but Helen laughed anyway.

Placing the photos to one side, the woman rested her chin on her neatly manicured hands. “You grew up with him, can you tell me what that was like? What sort of a father was Arthur Wilson?”

Frank wanted to laugh himself, but the gesture did not come from a happy place. The irony was, that while Helen had known Arthur Wilson to be her father all her life, and had hardly ever seen him, for Frank the man had been a constant presence in his life, but the nature of their relationship had remained entirely unknown to him for nearly thirty years.

For Helen’s sake though, he did his best to reflect back on those early years.

“Mum used to give him hell, and no doubt sometimes he deserved it. But he was a good man who stood by me and her all those years. When he found out what my friend’s father had called my mum he went round their house to 'have a word'.”

Helen’s eyes widened. “He fought him?”

Frank couldn’t imagine that it had been all as dramatic as that, but no one had ever said anything about his mum again after that, at least not in front of him.

“I’m not sure what happened, we moved soon after though. I was born in Weston-Super-Mare, we moved to Walmington when I was seven. Arthur had been offered a promotion at the bank, and then he made arrangements for us to follow once he was settled.” Unmarried, and yet Arthur had remained faithful to his mother. He couldn’t help but feel guilty at the strange sense of pride when he compared his own situation to Helen’s. He knew that Arthur must have had some regard for her mother, but in the end it was his mum that he’d chosen to be with.

He’d loved growing up in Walmington-On-Sea. People were kinder there he’d found; the sense of community was warm and inviting. By the time he was twelve, he knew everyone by either name or relation in the town.

Not wanting to focus the conversation on himself, Frank gestured towards Helen. “What was he like when he visited you?”

The woman before him began to glow as she gathered her memories around her. “Everything I could have wanted. Even during those years, I thought I hated him, the moment he appeared on the doorstep to whisk me off to the pictures, or the beach, or some other grand treat he’d planned, it all just melted away. He bought me gifts and we’d always spend an entire day together.” She sighed softly, “And then he would go home again.”

Back to him and mum.

His mum had never mentioned Helen, but she hadn’t been surprised when Helen had got in contact with him after the funeral to send her apologies for not being able to make it. Now that he thought about it, it was possible him mum had been the one to inform Helen of his death, how else would she have heard the news. That, however, was the moment Frank discovered he had a sister.

The life of Arthur Wilson was one wrapped in so many layers of mystery, it would be impossible to uncover every detail. He’d fought in the First World War, but he never talked about it, even when Mr. Mainwaring had been discussing it at great length. He had once lectured at Oxford, but that was another part of his life Arthur never talked about. In the end you had to accept him as the man that stood before you and expect no more than that.

“What can I get for you?” They were interrupted by the arrival of their waitress, open notebook in hand. A pretty brunette with a bright and open smile than Frank couldn’t help but return.

“A cream tea with two sugars and…” he waited for Helen to give her order, then repeated it to the waitress helpfully. She flashed him an even brighter smile and disappeared behind the counter to fetch their drinks.

When she was gone, Helen shook her head. “It’s uncanny it really is. Tell me Frank, apart from your mum, do you have any family?”

Reaching into his pocket, Frank withdrew his wallet and thumbed through the contents for a small photograph. “I have a daughter, her name’s Olivia.” A little abashed he couldn’t help but confess, “I named her after Olivia de Havilland, I’ve always had a bit of a thing for movie stars.”

Helen examined the photo appreciatively. “How old is she now? She looks about five here.”

“Fourteen. Getting to be a bit of a handful, her Godfather, Joe is really good with her though.” He took the photo back from Helen, smiling at it himself before storing it away. Already able to feel the question coming, he answered it before his sister had a chance to ask. “Her mother’s name was Vera, she died five years ago, cancer.” His wife’s death had been devastating for both him and Olivia, and if it hadn’t been for the overwhelming support they’d had in Walmington, he wasn’t sure how they would have survived it.

Eyes soft, Helen placed her hand gently on his. “I’m sorry for your loss, I would have loved to meet her.”

Frank patted her hand, before pulling his own back towards him. “We just have to get on with it. Mum helps out, and Joe is always there to keep her out of trouble… or at the very least help her out of it.” The others had all been very fond of Olivia as well. But most of them were gone now, he and Joe were practically the only ones left to reminisce about their day’s in the Home Guard. “What about you, any children?”

“Me and my husband have been married nearly twenty-years. We have three children, although our eldest is now eighteen.” She flushed apologetically, “I’m afraid I don’t have their photos on me though. Perhaps next time?” Her tone lilted discretely upward in the form of a question. After all, this spur of the moment meeting held no expectations. Their meeting was inevitable after the Will was read, after all, most of Arthur’s money had been split between the two of them, with a little bit set aside for Frank’s mum.

“A cream tea with two sugars, and a cream tea with one sugar.” The waitress reappeared, carefully placing down their orders. Frank thanked her, and she offered him a playful wink before scurrying over to her next table.

There was a soothing lull in the conversation. Frank took the time to reflect, taking a tentative sip of his hot drink.

“I don’t suppose there are any more of us out there do you?”

Helen blinked, tilting her head curiously. “More of us?” She repeated, then understanding dawned on her. “Oh, you mean did he have any other children?” Slowly shaking her head, Helen took another sip of her tea. “We were the only two mentioned in the Will, and I doubt a man like daddy would have left any of his children out of his inheritance.”

She was probably right, but it was a comfort to hear it said out loud.

More silence, then, Helen reached into her own handbag and withdrew a single photo. “Daddy sent me this during the war.”

It was the sort of photo Frank had seen many times but seeing it again so unexpectedly brought tears to his eyes. There they all were, the Walmington-On-Sea Home Guard lined up smartly in their uniforms in front of the church hall.

“God I look so young” was all he could think to say, chuckling at the sight of the knitted scarf tucked firmly round his neck. He touched a finger to the face of Mr. Frazer, surprising all, he’d been the first to go. That was almost thirteen years ago now though, the others had all managed to reach 1960, even Jonesy. Mr. Godfrey, defying all that was expected of him was still alive, but in very poor health.

Glancing back up at Helen, Frank saw the sadness once again in her eyes. “I know how important you all were to him. I fear it’s too late to get to know some of you now.”

Frank could only answer this with a small nod, he did however, single out Joe in the photo. Almost as young as he was, balancing a cigarette between a cocky smirk. “That’s Joe, Olivia’s Godfather. He was always a good laugh in the platoon, could get hold of anything you wanted,” Frank raised an eyebrow, “For a price of course.”

This managed to pull a laugh from Helen. “Let me guess, ‘fell off the back of a truck’?”

“Every time.” A warm sensation prickled at Frank’s heart, allowing himself to be swept back into his memories for just a short while. “Jonesy here was the Butcher for the town, he was always a step out in parades without fail. Frazer was the optimist of the group.” Adjusting his features into an impression of the haunting expression Frazer used to pull, Frank did his best to imitate the man’s favourite line, “We’re doomed. We’re all doomed.”

Getting lost in his stories and tales of the various adventures and trouble they’d all gotten into, Frank didn’t notice the next hour go by, and Helen listened attentively to every word.

It was the waitress prompting them with the bill that brought an end to the stories.

Frank was reminded that his train would be leaving in an hour, unfortunately their time seemed to be up.

“Perhaps next time we could meet in Walmington?” Helen suggested carefully, “My youngest is still fourteen, perhaps she and Olivia would get on, and I’m always saying to my husband we need to get down to the coast more.”

Smiling, Frank took her hand, “You would all be most welcome.”


End file.
